A year ago today, I graduated from university and it got me thinking about accomplishments. I like to think I’ve had a decent amount of them in my time, not just academic but professional, personal and physical. However, none of those things- not even shaving half my head and dyeing the other half neon pink- were as much of a conversation starter as pregnancy.

Everyone has an opinion on pregnancy. Everyone has a personal story or anecdote, or know something that’s happened to someone else. Whatever it is, they’re just bursting to tell you. Most of it, admittedly, is well-intentioned. People might not mean to come across in a particular way. They might even think they’re being helpful.

After a bad week and a good week I was a little worried how this one was going to go. I thought they might alternate and I’d have to ride this one out and wait for next Monday. As it turns out, it’s been a bit of a mixed bag. Like the preamble to bigger and more exciting things: necessary, full of potential but not quite there yet.

A little over a month ago, I was sitting in a bar on the tenth floor of a Berlin hotel. I had a rum and coke in one hand and a cigarette in the other and as I laughed and chatted with my boyfriend and two pals, I felt pretty contented. It’s been a pretty testing year so far: the graduate job hunt seemed like a series of defeats, I was turfed out of my shitty bar job and I’d been feeling that things were at a bit of a standstill. However as I sat on the bar’s 360-degree balcony, taking in the Berlin cityscape, I had a weird feeling that things were going to be OK. It might’ve been the half litre of wine I’d had (to myself) with dinner, the pre-gig anticipation or just the atmosphere, but bad luck can only last for so long. At the very least, I had another job to get me by, I was in my favourite place and I was in great company.

Exactly a week later I was back in Glasgow, standing in my flat, by myself, with a positive pregnancy test in my hand.